I
should not like to hear them all talk at once. I wonder if God hears
them?
CHAPTER V--THOSE ON THE EDGE
My first impression of East London was naturally a general one. Later
the details began to appear, and here and there in the chaos of misery I
found little spots where a fair measure of happiness reigned--sometimes
whole rows of houses in little out-of-the-way streets, where artisans
dwell and where a rude sort of family life obtains. In the evenings the
men can be seen at the doors, pipes in their mouths and children on their
knees, wives gossiping, and laughter and fun going on. The content of
these people is manifestly great, for, relative to the wretchedness that
encompasses them, they are well off.
But at the best, it is a dull, animal happiness, the content of the full
belly. The dominant note of their lives is materialistic. They are
stupid and heavy, without imagination. The Abyss seems to exude a
stupefying atmosphere of torpor, which wraps about them and deadens them.
Religion passes them by. The Unseen holds for them neither terror nor
delight. They are unaware of the Unseen; and the full belly and the
evening pipe, with their regular "arf an' arf," is all they demand, or
dream of demanding, from existence.
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